


Shall We Begin?

by nycgrl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nycgrl/pseuds/nycgrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aurora Lestrange is in love. With a man she's never met in person. All she has is a portrait of him, a portrait of a man long dead. Or is he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

_England, 1938  
_

  
  
Aurora wandered the halls, looking over all the portraits and paintings hung at various points along the walls. They were beautiful, but she didn’t stop to look for long, seeking out a particular portrait near the end of the corridor.  
  
“Back again, my dear?”  
  
She smirked up at the man in the painting. “Did you ever doubt me?”  
  
“No, I cannot say that I did.” He replied airily.

  
She hasn’t the first idea who the man was, he has never offered his name and she has never asked, but she supposes he was some long-dead distant Pureblood relative. He was a handsome man, with platinum blonde hair tied back at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon, and cold grey eyes and an angular face. His sense of humour was unparalleled by anyone else she knew, matching only hers, and they bantered and argued constantly.  
For someone she talked to so often, she knew virtually nothing about him, but she wasn’t there to really talk, at least not in the searching, question after question way.  
  
A quick spell obscured all the nearby frames with black cloths and a silencing charm, despite the occupants’ protests.  
  
He smirked lightly, sitting back in his chair.

  
  
“Shall we begin?”


	2. Chapter 2

Aurora made her way downstairs, hearing voices from the drawing room. Peeking in, she glanced over the occupants of the room. Her parents were presiding, her mother on the settee talking with Helene and Celeste, her sisters-in-law, and another blonde woman she didn’t recognise. Apollo was slouched in the side armchair, looking bored, and Atlas and Ares were standing with their father and a blonde man who had his back to her.   
As she watched, he turned at something Atlas said, and Aurora’s breath caught in her throat. Platinum blonde hair, tied back with a ribbon, cold grey eyes, and an angular face.   
  
She turned and ran, sprinting down the hall of portraits and stopping in front of him. “Who _are_ you?” She demanded breathlessly, and he arched an eyebrow.   
  
“Abraxas Malfoy.”  
  
“But— how—” She stammered, staring at him in shock, and he frowned. “What has happened..?”  
  
“You’re downstairs!” She snapped. “In our drawing room!”  
  
He smirked in a confused manner. “Well, I’m not exactly dead yet, my dear.”  
  
“What?!” She yelped, leaning back against the wall, hand pressed to her forehead. “Why didn’t you _say_ something?”   
  
“The opportunity never arose, and you never asked?”  
  
“You’re impossible, do you know that?” She finally regained her senses enough to ask, and he grinned. “My wife says the same, often.”  
  
“Your wife.” She replied stoically. “Of course you’re married.”  
  
“You and I both know that’s not important.” He replied with a frown. “We’re Purebloods, darling. I’m honestly rather surprised that you’re _not_ married.”   
  
“They’re arranging one.” She muttered, and he shrugged elegantly. “It’s of little concern, my dear. We marry for wealth and titles and heirs, but behind closed doors we do whatever we please.”  
  
 _“Aurora!”_  
  
She looked up at the faraway call, groaning quietly. “Great.”  
  
“I’m not that bad, darling. I won’t bite.” He said with an arched eyebrow, but then smirked. “Hard..”  
  
“You’re a bloody _menace_.” She snapped, storming off down the hall, leaving him grinning after her.   
  
  
Coming down the stairs, she found her mother waiting for her impatiently. “There you are. Come, we have guests.”   
  
She trailed after her into the drawing room, flinching as Abraxas turned to look at her. Seeing him outside of a painting was uncomfortably different.   
“This is our youngest, and only daughter, Aurora.”  
 Aurora smiled weakly as Abraxas pressed a kiss to the back of her hand in greeting, shifting uncomfortably.   
  
Was there a connection between a portrait and a person themselves? The man hadn’t shown any indication of having seen her before, and certainly not what had transpired over the last few weeks. Portraits must be able to be completely independent, given they still talked long after the subject was dead. Perhaps he didn’t know.  
But was that worse? She couldn’t decide if it was better if he did or didn’t know. It was terribly awkward either way, and she glimpsed him watching her curiously as she squirmed uncomfortably.   
  
She escaped the room at the earliest possible opportunity, having mercifully been sent by her mother to oversee dinner preparations. But that meant they were staying for dinner, oh dear Merlin.   
Quickly giving the house elves in the kitchen their instructions, she managed to make her way to the library, hiding until an elf appeared to inform her the meal was ready.   
  
Slipping into the room, she saw, to her irritation, that she was seated directly across from him. Hiding a heavy sigh, she avoided looking at him, instead going between conversations with Apollo, who was seated next to her, and Abraxas’s wife Cressida, who she found she rather liked.   
  
Eventually, she spared him a curious glance, and found him already staring at her. His grey eyes betrayed no thought, but after a moment of her meeting his gaze, a smirk quirked the corner of his mouth, darkening his eyes slightly as he looked her over rather suggestively.   
  
  
She was completely silent the rest of the meal, ignoring the conversations around her. Abraxas was mostly quiet as well, only occasionally commenting on something in a rich, deep voice— the voice she was used to purring commands to her on how to touch herself— and the thought made her squirm uncomfortably on her chair.   
  
After the meal was over, she slipped away, wandering upstairs. She couldn’t tell if he knew or not, but she wasn’t going to stick around to find out. Somehow, though, she ended up back at his portrait, glaring at him.   
  
“I really hate you, do you know that?” She snapped, and he chuckled. “You didn’t exactly have that opinion before.”  
  
She flushed, furious. “And does the ‘real you’ know about this?” She snapped, and he sat back, smirking at her. “Not dead yet..”  
  
“I know you’re not bloody dead yet, you’re downstairs.”  
  
He didn’t respond, simply sitting back and smirking at her, and she made a noise of disgust, stalking off.   
  
  
Coming down the main corridor, she turned to go back to her room, slipping around the corner and instantly colliding with someone. Expecting one of her brothers, probably Apollo, she opened her mouth to tell them off, but instead looked up into Abraxas’s grey eyes.   
Instantly backing away, she muttered an apology, glancing to the side. Anywhere but him.   
  
“Alright, love?” He asked casually, and she pursed her lips, nodding once.   
  
“I do have to admit, it’s good to finally meet you in person.” He added, and her eyes widened. “In person?” She questioned softly. The statement could be taken two ways, and she licked her lips nervously.   
“I went to school with your older brothers. And your father has told me much about you.” He amended, and she raised her chin a fraction of an inch.   
“Has he?” Her voice broke slightly, and she blinked nervously, glancing aside.   
He smirked at her, starting to continue on down the hall, but paused, turning back.

  
  
“Well, besides what you’ve told my portrait, of course.”


	3. Chapter 3

She managed to fall into a fitful sleep, his voice still invading her mind. 

When she woke, it was early morning, and she laid in bed for a long time, thinking.   
A knock on her door roused her from her thoughts, and she opened it, fingers running through her messy hair, to find her mother there. 

“Cressida Malfoy has asked we take tea with her this afternoon, at their Manor.”

“She— I— what?” She stammered, heart lurching at the idea of facing Abraxas again.

“Tea, Aurora.” Her mother repeated impatiently. “Her husband is attending to other matters today and asked that we join her. What’s wrong? You seemed to like her last night..”

“No, I did. I’ll be ready.” 

 

 

Malfoy Manor proved to be a showplace, to say the very least, a marble monstrosity surrounded by lush grounds.   
Cressida had afternoon tea ready when they were ushered in by house-elves, in a large drawing room off the entrance hall.   
Aurora engaged in a bit of polite conversation, but left the talking mainly to her mother and sisters, settling for looking around the large room.   
Eventually she excused herself under the guise of using the restroom, but instead wandered the halls, looking at the paintings and sculptures that lined the corridors. 

“Fancy seeing you here..”

Her heart stopped at the deep voice behind her, freezing in place. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to be there. 

She gritted her teeth, glancing over her shoulder back at him, then, defeated, turned around, hoping she could escape quickly. “Mr. Malfoy..”   
She inclined her head slightly in greeting, then moved to continue down the corridor, but a large hand caught her waist, pulling her against his side.   
He dipped his head as she glared up at him, catching her lips in a rather demanding kiss. 

Her heart leapt, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt, caught up in just how good he was at kissing—   
Realising in an instant what was happening, she shoved at his shoulder, knocking him back slightly.   
He arched an eyebrow, but only looked rather amused, a smirk curling his lips. 

“What’s the matter?” He drawled, and she stepped back, folding her arms over her stomach protectively. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” She finally snapped, and he chuckled. 

“You can’t possibly need me to answer that.”

“Well I know what you’re doing, but—“ She cut off, sending him an irritated look. “You’re bloody impossible.”

“So you’ve told me.”

She made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat, and he glanced down at her, unimpressed. “You spread your legs for a portrait of a man, but not the subject. You really are a most curious girl.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t seem to mind at the time. Don’t even think about trying to shame me.”

“Who said anything about shaming? And no, I don’t mind, my dear. I rather enjoyed it, to be perfectly honest.”

He reached for her again, drawing her back against his side, and again she was lost in the haze of his kisses, her knees weakening as he swept his tongue into her mouth, lazily exploring.   
His arm around her waist kept her upright, but just barely, and she leaned against him for support, fingers clinging to his shirt.   
The little air left in her lungs was knocked out of her as her back hit the wall, body suddenly lifted by strong hands against it, forcing her legs to wrap around his waist.   
She broke away to gasp for air, trying to regain her senses, and turned her head aside as he tried to kiss her again, which evidently annoyed him.   
“Ow!” She let out a pained yelp as his teeth sunk into the top of her breast, exposed by her blouse. 

Frantically, she shoved at his head, trying to push him away, but it only served to send more pain stabbing through her as he refused to let go. 

Tears gathered in her eyes at the stinging pain, wondering why the hell he was biting her— when he suddenly let go, rolling his gaze up to hers. His grey eyes were like ice, his gaze burning into hers, and she clenched her teeth to control her trembling.   
“What the fucking hell was that for?” She demanded, voice hoarse and thick with tears.  
“Language, darling.” He replied smoothly, but his eyes were still blazing. 

She stared at him for a long moment, unsure what she had done to make him so angry, when he kissed her again, mouth insistent against hers but gentler this time.   
One large hand wound through her dark hair, as his hips pinned her firmly against the wall, grinding slowly against her. 

This was so wrong, she tried to convince herself. The man was at least ten years older than her, if not more, while she was barely considered an adult in the wizarding world, barely seventeen, still at Hogwarts, for Merlin’s sake.   
Her convincing was for naught, though, as she lost her mind to his kisses, her head spinning, hardly able to even tell which way was up. Where was she? Was someone going to miss her if she didn’t return soon?  
None of it mattered, as long as he didn’t stop. His kiss was becoming a lifeline for her sanity. 

When he finally broke away, just slightly, her eyes fluttered open reluctantly. He was staring at her silently, lips reddened and slightly parted, eyes dark.   
Vaguely, she registered him speak, but she could barely understand his words, much less formulate a reply.   
The only thing she managed was a whispering moan of his name, and an unbelievably smug smirk crossed his face, eyes sparkling faintly in amusement, but he lowered her to her feet again. 

“They’ll be looking for you.”

True enough, she heard her mother’s voice calling her faintly a moment later, and she inhaled deeply in vain attempt to slow her breaths, running her fingers nervously through her hair and swallowing hard. 

He smirked, his fingertip brushing her cheek, and then he was gone, leaving her to return to the drawing room, hastily digging in her handbag for makeup. Her flushed cheeks were covered with powder and lipstick covered her kiss-bruised lips, but she could do nothing to cover the red bite mark on her chest, only able to awkwardly tug at her blouse in attempt to hide it.


End file.
